


nice guys finish last

by ghost_lingering



Category: Ten Inch Hero
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-13
Updated: 2009-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:33:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghost_lingering/pseuds/ghost_lingering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>YOU WERE ALWAYS A NICE GUY.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nice guys finish last

**Author's Note:**

> what the fuck brain. what the fuck. (by the way, there are already about ten billion other fics that are _exactly like this_ for this fandom. this is the only fic that this fandom seems to write. YES I AM EXAGGERATING. but not much.) (the only thing I wanted from the end scene with Tish and Priestly is for him to say: "I changed because you wanted a nice guy" and for her to reply: "You were always a nice guy") (I got my knowledge of Boaz in the Jewish tradition from wikipedia; if wikipedia led me astray, ping me and I will fix.) (there is maybe a longer explaination behind the tattoo, that basically is that in my version of his life his mother is Jewish and v. religious and named him and his father is Scottish and sort of a free spirit and his parents seem ill-matched but somehow they work really well.) (my theory of his parents is pretty much in no way supported by the film, save a. his first name, and b. his kilt.)

For the rest of the morning she kept stealing glances at him, half expecting to turn and see orange hair and a kilt and find out that the slacks and collared shirt and hair cut were a mirage. Sometimes she would catch him looking back at her, a bit awed and apprehensive, like he was sure that she was going to change her mind about the date any moment. It was awkward, between them, but not unpleasantly so.

She kept reaching up to stick orders in his mohawk, only to have it missing. The first time it happened the order just dropped to the floor, and when they both bent to pick it up, their hands knocked together and they looked at each other, blushing, as Piper and Jen and Trucker tried to hide their laughs. The second time her hand came down too hard and she accidentally thumped his head and dropped the order into a vat of vegan mayonnaise. For the next hour he feigned pain and ducked every time she approached. The third time he caught her wrist just in time and grabbed the paper with the other hand.

"I'm starting to get used to this," he said, still loosely holding her, but looking at the order, "Soon I'll catch you every time." He dropped her wrist as he went to start on the sub, and she rubbed where he had touched her, briefly.

"Maybe we should get you a hat for me to put the orders," she said.

"Oh, like a pirate hat!" Jen said, looking up from her computer, "A tricorne!"

"Boaz Priestly, pirate king," Piper said, without turning away from the wall, "I could add your ship in my painting."

Tish glanced up at him, and she thought saw him give a fleeting frown, before the bell on the door rang and they both looked over to where three guys--all A pluses in looks--sauntered in. Any other day she would have gone and pushed Jen out of the way for some quality flirting and guy catching, but today she grabbed a towel and flicked it at Priestly as she walked past him on her way to wipe down the back tables. As she heard Jen take the guys' orders, she looked over her shoulder at where Priestly was watching her, but when he noticed her looking back he turned away, busying himself with the grill.

There was always a lag late afternoon, and that's when Piper took off, to pick up Julia. Jen was next, mumbling something about a date with Jeff, and when close came around Zo knocked on the door and invited Tucker to dinner, giving Tish and Priestly a vague smile and saying only, "You are learning to see each other for who you are."

"Do you mind--?" Tucker whispered to them, and they both shook their heads.

"Don't do anything Tish wouldn't do," Priestly said, but unlike the other times he'd teased her, this time he looked over and cocked his head and gave a half smile, and it didn't sting.

"Right then," said Trucker, putting his arm around Zo, "Don't take too long closing up."

And then they were two. There was a certain routine to closing up that Tish hadn't quite mastered--she was usually the first to leave with her flavor of the day, making Priestly and Jen stay behind her. She went to the screen door and locked it, then turned around and watched as Priestly put the chairs up, studiously not watching her.

"Where were we going to go for dinner?" she asked and he stopped cleaning, but still didn't look at her.

"I was going to let you choose," he said, "I don't--you've probably been to more of the restaurants around here than I have."

"I've been to a few," she said, leaning back against the door and thinking about all of the dates she'd been on with the wrong men. She stayed silent and watched him until he finally met her eyes. "I like this one the best--it's the only one a guy's never taken me too."

He didn't say anything for a moment and she opened her mouth to take it back, because what was she thinking, practically telling him to cook for her, but then he grinned. "Well then miss," he said, stepping behind the register, "What can I get for you this evening?"

She smiled and walked over to the front of the counter, leaned over and looked up at him through fluttering lashes. "I don't know," she said, "Can you tell me your specials for today?"

He made her his own concoctions, things not exactly on the menu, some wonderful, some just delightfully bad. They laughed a lot. After someone had knocked on the window asking if they were still open, they grabbed a black tarp that Trucker kept, for no good reason, in the back, and curtained off the windows. Priestly found candles under the tarp and they stood behind the counter eating the wraps that he made, the flickering light of the flames throwing shadows against the walls. She looked over his shoulder and once or twice she stole the food from under his spatula, only to have him swat at her, as she retaliated by trying to feed him the tofurkey and wasabi she had stolen or the zucchini and cranberries. It mostly ended up on the floor, a splotch here or there on their shirts, but she managed to feed him roasted eggplant and she shivered as his lips brushed her skin and his teeth grazed past the pad of her thumb. He pulled back quickly and looked at her, and she watched as his pupils dilated as she brought her fingers to her mouth and licked them clean.

"It's good," she said, watching him chew and then swallow, "The eggplant." She brushed a piece of tofu from his shirt. "Sorry I got it dirty," she said, adjusting his collar and looking up at him.

"S'ok," he said, soft, but not quite a whisper, "It'll get clean."

"You still hungry?" she asked, and she could feel him take a breath.

He shook his head. "We should clean up." She stepped back and dropped her arms.

They worked quickly, taking down the tarp, blowing out the candles, mopping up the floor. It was late, when they finally made it outside, and almost chilly, with a cool wind off the ocean.

"I'd offer you my jacket," Priestly said, "If I had it with me."

She smiled up at him. "I'm fine," she said, "I'm a tough girl."

She meant it as a joke, but he looked over at her, serious, and said, "Yeah, you are." He cleared his throat. "Want a ride home?"

She nodded. The drive to her place was silent, each of them glancing over at each other and then looking away, until he pulled up to her street.

"I'll walk you to the door," he said, but he made it sound like a question.

"Sure," she said, looked over at him and smiling, "I'd like that."

They got out of the car, and the slam of their doors was over-loud in the night. Tish lived in a small condo, a place her parents used to own, together with her aunt and uncle. It was the one thing they gave their daughter when she dropped out of college and moved to the ocean. A place to stay so she wouldn't sleep on the streets--everything else was on her.

She and Priestly walked slowly, arms brushing lightly as they stepped. He had been a gentlemen to her tonight--not just the clothes and the hair and cooking the food, but holding doors open for her and not assuming that saying yes to a date gave him permission to get into her space. It would have, actually, if he had pushed it, but there was something sweet about the way that he didn't.

When they got to her door she got up on the first step and turned to him, still not reaching his height. She took his hand, ready to invite him in and up, but he spoke first.

"I had a really nice time tonight," he said, then stepped closer and tucked her hair behind her ear before leaning down to kiss her. There was a brief touch of tongue and then he brushed his thumb down her check and pulled away. "Maybe we could do something tomorrow?" he asked, "Catch a movie or something?"

She nodded, and he smiled, took a few steps backwards still looking at her, then waved goodnight, as she groped, blindly, behind her for her door.

"Goodnight," she said, and watched from the doorway as he got back into his car and drove off. She felt light-headed and out of sorts, that he had managed to outmaneuver her and dodge the invitation inside that he had to know was coming. She locked the door behind her and striped off her shirt, then pants as she climbed into bed. She didn't even bother with brushing her teeth, she was too busy reaching under her bra and teasing a nipple with one hand as she reached between her legs with her other.

She thought about the look on his face when he kissed her and how green his eyes were when he opened them as he pulled back. She thought about his fingers, deftly wrapping around her wrist, and how long they were and how his thumb was rough against her cheek. She bit her lip and pushed her bra up further and her underwear down. She thought of the smooth skin of his jaw, now that he had shaved, and the tattoo that peaked just out from the collar, and--oh--she thought of the way she could run her hands through his hair now, and she closed her eyes and thought of pushing one of those ridiculous t-shirts he wore up over his head, and how it would feel soft with age under her fingers, and warm from his skin and then she'd follow her hands by kissing up his chest and tracing her tongue around the ink she knew he had there, but had never seen. And then she wondered what else he'd pierced--his nipples? his cock?--and, oh, she thought of how she could run her hands up under his kilt and pull him on top of her and bite his lips, and--what would he say when he was inside her? She imagined his voice, rough and deep saying her name and how her hand would tighten in his hair as he would thrust and bite her neck--

She slept well that night.

She was nervous, the next morning, going into work, but it was somehow unchanged from usual--Priestly was late, Jen was at the computer, Trucker looking over a list, and Piper painting.

"So," Piper said, looking over and wagging her eyebrows, "What were the scores?"

Jen shushed her, blushing. "We have to work with him, Piper--besides," she said, turning to Tish, "You're not with him just for the sex, right?"

"Oh!" said one of their regulars, petting her dog, "But the sex part is important too. You can't have a relationship if that doesn't work!"

Tish ducked her head. "We," she started to say, before the bell over the door rang and Priestly came in, wearing jeans, today, but with a collared shirt. He paused as they all looked at him. "I'm trying something new with him," she continued, meeting his eyes, "We're waiting for, uh, the second date?"

She hated that she made it into a question, but then he smiled and went around the counter. "Right on," he said, "I like to think of it as expanding her sexual horizons."

Piper and the regulars did a bit of cat-calling, and Tish ducked her head, but she couldn't keep from laughing, a little, along with them.

Trucker let them leave early, and she could feel everyone's eyes on them as Priestly held the door open for her, and rested his hand on her back as they walked away.

He bought her soda and popcorn, as they settled into the back row of the movie theater, which was mostly empty except for a couple of teenage boys in the front row who spent most of the time mocking the movie in loud voices. Tish and Priestly did mostly the same thing except they did it in whispers into each others ears that lead to almost-kisses which dissolved into snorts of laughter when the kids in the front started up with their commentary again.

He drove her home and this time, before he'd even finished putting the car into park, she asked, "Would you come in? With me?" She hated how nervous she sounded, but when she looked over and watched him draw in a deep breath and nod, she felt better.

He followed her inside when she unlocked the door, and kept his distance when she closed it behind them. She wasn't quite sure what to do with this--he already knew all her lines, and she wasn't used to seducing guys who were shy about sex. She reached her hand to his neck, and traced the tattoo with her fingers. She stepped closer and he took half a step back, almost into the wall.

"Priestly," she said, then trailed off as he took a breath, threaded a hand through her hair and kissed her.

She was surprised, a bit, to find that he was a good kisser. He curled his other hand around her hip, slipping his thumb under her shirt, dipping it beneath her jeans, briefly, pulling her closer, their legs tangling, as she kept her hand over the tattoo on his neck, feeling his pulse against her palm. With her other hand she started unbuttoning his shirt.

"Tish," he said pulling back, breathing into her hair, "We don't have to--"

"Shut up," she said, using both hands now, and pushing his shirt off his shoulders, "If we're going to be in a relationship, then we're damn well going to have sex."

She stood on her toes and started kissing his tattoo, then moving her way down, to the ink over his chest, detouring briefly to a nipple, then back to the strange script over his skin. "What is it," she asked lips brushed against the writing, as she curled her fingers up the artwork up along his sides. She looked up at him. His eyes were closed. "Priestly," she whispered again, then kissed the corner of his mouth, his lower lip.

She pulled back to ask again, but he interrupted her. "May God, who rewards the pious, also reward you," he said, "In Scots-Gaelic."

He leaned down to kiss her again, but she pulled back. "Why?" she asked, "What's the significance?"

"_Ruth Rabbah_ for my mother, the language for my father," he said, kissing up her jaw.

"And what about this one?" she asked, tracing a series of whorls around his sides, "Do they go all the way around your back?"

He grabbed her hands and twined their fingers together, away from his body. "I thought you wanted--you were the one who wanted sex," he said, "Why are you asking about this stuff?"

"You obviously made the choice to put it on your skin forever," she said, "I just wanted to know why. I wanted to know you."

He looked at her for a long time, not talking, and Tish didn't know what else to say. "I got them when I was younger," he said, "I can always pay to get them removed."

Tish frowned. "Why would you do that?" she asked, "I just--I want to know what they are. I want to kiss them and know what they mean to you."

She pulled her hands away from his and stepped closer, reaching up the run them through his hair. "I want to know you," she said, again, and she was pressed up so close she could feel him sigh.

"You want a nice guy," he said, "not the kid who got a map of all the world's coastlines with marks at each place he'd travelled."

"But you are a nice guy," she said, surprised, "I thought--I'd still date you with a mohawk and a kilt."

"No you wouldn't," he said, turning away as she tried to kiss his neck, his face, "You want some button down kid who can take care of you."

"I tried that," she said, "and it wasn't what I wanted at all."

He cupped his hands around her face and pushed her back. "If I show up to work tomorrow wearing eyeliner and with all my piercing in and with a mohawk you'd still date me?"

She nodded, felt his hands move with her. "Well, your hair is too short for a mohawk," she said, "and I couldn't run my hands through it if you went back, but I would be able to stick the orders in your hair again, so, it would even out." She tugged at his jeans, and started backing her way towards her bedroom. "Kilts are easy access," she continued, "and certain piercing can be very…pleasurable."

She kicked her door open with her foot and watched as his shock slowly changed to a grin, and when they got into the bedroom, he pushed her back up against the door, as she wrapped one leg around his thigh. "Right then, _Platisha_," he said, "I'm going to trust you're not lying."

"I'm not," she said, kissing him, then kissing him again, "You can give me ideas for where to get my first tattoo." And she watched as he smiled and finally got them to her bed.


End file.
